lazy flyers

mari-strider  asked:

What up fam ur boii is back!! Ok so like i just wanna know how Credence thinks about the reader having brown eyes and how he describes them. Cuz we've all seen the blue=a Crystal clear ocean/sky and yeah i dont see lots of writers romantizing brown eyes but like them dark brown not hazel. I dont mean to insult other eye colors just that we don't see that much brown. Thank you!!

Credence never cared much for his dark eyes. Boring, Ma had always said. Nobody wants to look into dark eyes all day long. Now go hand out those flyers, lazy boy. Which is exactly what he was doing when you’d smiled at him, taking the sheet from his hand and skimming over the words. He’d flushed pink when you’d met his eyes again and asked about the page.

“Yes.” He’d murmured, trying to pick out the mixture of colors in your eyes. Dark eyes, but so much more brilliant than his own, a myriad of shades that melded together into an intense beauty he adored.

Your eyes held the trees of the forest he’d once seen a picture of in a book Modesty snuck into the house years ago. She’d slipped into his room after Ma had fallen asleep that night, holding the book in the moonlight for him and flipping the pages so his scabbed hands didn’t have to touch anything. The two had sat there in a comfortable silence, shoulders pressed against one another’s, the best way to show comfort and sympathy in the house. The only words exchanged were from Modesty to Credence when she’d promised to take him to that forest someday.

Yours were the color of the teddy bear he’d clutched every night when he was little and woke up screaming at the nightmares winding through every dream. Its little red ribbon had tickled him awake whenever he writhed in terror, and its soft brown fur glimmered in the light the same way your eyes glimmer now as you talk.

Beneath those long, dark eyelashes that flutter when you blink, your deep brown eyes reminded Credence of some distant memory, of tugging on a button the same color on a threadbare jacket. A woman’s gentle hands took his away from the button, clutching both of his tiny hands in one of her own as her blurry face broke into laughter and sat him up, bouncing him on one knee, voice lilting in an accent he never had the chance to pick up. “There you are, my love. That’s no toy for you.” Soft lips pressing against the top of his head as he squirmed and giggled.

Tears prod his eyes at that memory. You notice and raise a hand, resting it on his shoulder and asking if he’s okay, if you can help with whatever’s wrong. He drops your gaze and nods, saying he’s fine.

But then you invite him out for tea, asking if he’d like to get out of the cover of grey clouds that will surely split open at any moment. He knows he shouldn’t say yes, shouldn’t go, that Ma will make him pay, but your dark eyes are so kind, so loving, so sweet that he can’t bring himself to say no. He says yes and you grin, your forest eyes brightening.

On the walk, you slip your hand in his. When he glances at you, surprised, slightly uneasy, but somehow unexpectedly please with the motion, you grin. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?”

He flushes dark red again, stammering a thank you out. He vows to tell you the same as you pull the door open to the tea shop.

You talk and talk, as though you’re aware that he doesn’t know what to say and don’t want him to feel awkward, until the two cups of black tea you’d ordered are served. You only stop talking to take a sip of yours, and your face contorts when it hits your tongue, eyes crinkling and half-closing at the taste. “Much more bitter than I like” you mutter, but all Credence notices is how your eyes shine like the reflection of his growing smile on the top, watery layer of his own tea. His stomach flutters, filled with joy as he sips his own drink and knows that he has found his new favorite color.

I just came across these two pictures in the photo album on my iPod. The first one was taken on July 5th, 2012, and the second one on November 1st, 2012. This picture is being printed off and given to every flyer on my team who says they’ve been stretching at home yet their air positions have yet to improve since the beginning of July. If a base can improve this much and a flyer can’t improve at all, clearly they’re doing something wrong. Lazy flyers are my pet peeve.